


tooth and claw

by merionettes (acchikocchi)



Series: gimme shelter [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Gen, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), good dogs, they're all good dogs felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/merionettes
Summary: The dog started following Felix back in Fódlan.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: gimme shelter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908619
Comments: 32
Kudos: 321





	tooth and claw

The merchant wanted twice what the knife was worth, and that was after they'd gotten past the ceremonial preliminaries. Felix hated haggling. He needed a better knife, though. He'd lost his good one when one of the bandits he'd cleared out of the settlement twenty miles back fell off the bank and into the river, taking the knife with him by way of it being embedded in his heart. Felix followed the river downstream for at least a mile looking for signs of the body, with no luck. It had been a good knife.

He gave the merchant's piece another close-eyed inspection, tip to hilt, and weighed it in his hand. Nice throwing weight.

The merchant sensed blood. "And here, a connoisseur like yourself will have noticed this tempered edge, fine as paper—Srengi steelwork, you see, the finest blades north of—" 

"All right," Felix said. "I'll take it."

At least there was plenty of gold left for the rest of the supplies. That village had paid well. Felix collected the items as quickly as he could: soap powder, flatbread, dried vegetables— distasteful necessity—and fresh stores of twine and glue. 

It was getting late, a syrupy golden glow settling over the canopied stalls. The butcher's was on the edge of the market, where the stench of offal wouldn't overpower delicate fruits and perfumes. Felix spared a single itching thought for a haunch of elk hanging overhead and instead bought a silver's worth of smoked jerky. He wrapped it in oilcloth, twice, before tucking it in his pack.

The dog was waiting right where Felix had left him south of the market perimeter, sitting patiently on the sun-warmed rock with his head tucked against his paws. At Felix's approach, he scrambled up on his paws, tail wagging furiously. 

Felix didn't say anything; he didn't have to, usually. The dog fell in and trotted alongside him as he made his way along the south road out of town. He wanted to be at least an hour gone before they made camp.

The eastern edge of Morfis, where it bordered Almyra, was scrubby and hilly, stands of desert pines punctuated by bulging rock formations. The sun looked like an egg yolk suspended above the horizon when Felix turned off the road. It didn't take long to find a good spot to make camp, near the stream and sheltered from sight; they were skirting the edge of the true desert still.

Felix's boots were coated in red dust. "I guess we match," he said to the dog. The dog wagged his tail.

They had a routine. As soon as Felix put his pack down, the dog scampered off into the trees, while Felix refilled his water skins and gathered kindling. Soon, scuffling noises from the underbrush. Felix was still coaxing the fire to life when the dog trotted back into the clearing holding two rabbits in his mouth. 

Felix sat back on his heels. "You win again." The dog carefully dropped the rabbits by the fireside and then looked up at Felix, tongue lolling from his mouth, smug. Felix rolled his eyes.

Nevertheless, he dug into his pack for the oilcloth package. He held up the piece of jerky, making eye contact, and then tossed it in the air. The dog leaped and caught it in his jaws before it hit the ground. It was gone in two bites.

Felix spitted the rabbits on sticks and roasted them slowly over the fire. It had taken him a little while to figure out that the dog, too, liked his meat cooked. When the roasts were done, crackling and lightly charred, Felix slid one from its spit, wincing as the meat singed his fingers, and put it in front of the dog. The dog didn't immediately gulp it down. He sat waiting, trembling with the effort of restraint, until Felix took a bite of his own rabbit, judged it cool enough to proceed, and said, "Eat."

The dog's rabbit was gone in seconds. The gobbling was punctuated by a small yelp, so maybe it hadn't cooled as much as Felix thought, but that didn't seem to slow him down. Felix ate his own slowly, habit inculcated over five years of war. Focus on what you're eating. Take your time. You'll feel like it went further.

He ate a piece of flatbread along with it, anyway. The dog was crisscrossing the clearing, nosing in the bushes. Exploring for the fun of it. It was warm enough that they didn't really need the fire, so Felix put it out. The dog came trotting back over as he took out the day's acquisition.

"Look. I got a new knife." He held it out, displaying the blade. "What do you think?"

The dog tilted his head to one side, a critical collector. He barked once.

"Glad you approve." Felix sheathed the knife and hooked it on the side of his belt. 

Felix laid out his weapons—swords, knives, bow—and began the nightly round of maintenance, cleaning, testing, doublechecking. Perfect condition or nothing. Some people would say if he hadn't fought in the time between it was probably unnecessary. Some people's lives didn't depend on it.

After a few minutes, the dog settled beside him, head resting on paws, a warm, furry weight against his hip. Felix paused his strokes and reached out to rest a hand atop the dog's head.

"Good dog," he murmured, stroking his ears. "Good dog."

* * *

The dog had started following Felix all the way back in Fódlan. Two years ago now, or was it three? He hadn't been keeping track of time, then. He only knew the seasons had turned as he'd walked all the way from the monastery to the border, paying his way with odd jobs. He supposed that made him a mercenary. He didn't know where he was going. It didn't matter. So he went north.

Two days south of the Sreng border, he made camp at the foot of the mountains, where a white stream gushed from the rocks. It was getting cold at night, a thin skin of ice on still water each morning. Soon it would snow. Until it did, Felix stayed outdoors. 

He heard the rustling in the bushes while he was chewing on his evening ration, some kind of dried meat. There were beasts of all kinds in the forest—wild animals, and others. Felix didn't turn at first. He moved his hand, casually, until it rested on the hilt of his sword, and then spun around into a ready crouch.

It wasn't a beast. It was a dog, muddy and beaten down, skinny enough that Felix could count its ribs. At Felix's sudden movement, it whined, pathetically, and pressed its belly to the ground.

Felix straightened up, disgusted. "Go away."

It whined again, and slunk around the edge of the clearing. Just the sight of it irritated him. "Go on," Felix said. "Get out. Or you'll be my next dinner."

Its eyes were fixed on the dried meat. The curing had a pungent smell. Felix sighed.

He tore a piece from the strip of meat and tossed it to the dog. It waited, for a moment, like it couldn't quite believe it, and then pounced, gobbling the meat up and giving a short bark.

"That's all," Felix said. "Go away."

It didn't. It just crouched there, panting, watching Felix. Feral. Pathetic.

"I said, go _away_ ," Felix said, furious. He scooped up a rock, aiming for the ground next to it. It did the trick. With a final yelp, the dog turned tail and disappeared into the bushes. 

It was stupid to feel guilty, so he didn't. Felix lay down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. Eventually he slept.

When he woke up the next morning, the dog was back. 

It was sitting on the edge of the clearing, as far as it could get from Felix and remain in sight. When Felix sat up, its tail thumped the ground, once, and stopped.

Fine. He ignored it. His breath frosted in the chill. He ate some more dried meat and filled his water skin at the stream. That was enough preparation. He hoisted his pack on his shoulders and set out for the road.

He heard the rustling behind him before he'd gone fifty yards. He stopped. So did the rustling. He took another few steps. More rustling.

He turned around. A leaf quivered. Nothing in sight.

He took another few steps forward. Rustle, rustle. He kept walking, steady, rustle, rustle, rustle—Felix spun around.

It wasn't quite fast enough. Felix caught sight of the reddish-brown tail vanishing into the bushes. 

He drew in a deep breath through his nose and expelled it again. 

"Stop following me," he said aloud. The words hung in the air. He was talking to a dog. 

He turned back around and, grimly, kept walking.

An hour later he hit the open road. The rustling turned to the soft pad of paws on dirt. When Felix turned around, it was maybe three yards away. It stopped, but it didn't try to hide. Just sat there looking at him, watchful and determined.

Felix kept walking. He bypassed a village, and then another. He was back in the forest by midday. When the sun was so low in the sky that he had no other choice, he stopped for the night, picking a rocky outcrop next to the stream—a surging river now—and unshouldering his pack. The dog's nails clicked on the stone.

"I'm not feeding you," Felix told it. 

The dog cocked its head to the side. Then it turned around and dashed back into the trees.

Felix blinked. There. Done.

He sat down with his back to the rock. He should get his evening ration out. He would, eventually.

He was still sitting there when he heard a rustling, then a crashing, then the galloping of paws. The dog skidded to a halt at the edge of the outcropping and barked, several times. Its tail was wagging.

A swell of pure frustration rose in Felix's chest. "Didn't you hear me?" he demanded, like it understood him. Stupid. "I'm not going to help you, go away!"

The dog barked again, sharper. It lowered its head to touch its nose to—something on the ground, then raised it and barked again.

Felix looked again. There was a quail on the ground, between its forepaws.

Felix approached, slowly. The dog didn't move, not to attack him nor protect its kill. When Felix, slow and careful, crouched down and reached for the quail, it sat down and thumped its tail against the ground, one single movement.

He couldn't eat the quail raw. He had to build a fire whether he wanted to or not. While the coals were heating, he cleaned the quail and left the innards for the dog. They were gone by the time he turned back from sharpening a stick to spit the quail.

It had been a long time since he'd eaten roast meat. In the last days of the war they'd been on half rations of moldy stores. After, he'd skipped the feasts of celebration, beloved of the new king. There was nothing to celebrate.

He was full enough to be drowsy—another forgotten sensation. He considered the last few bites of quail meat and then tossed them to the dog, too. Better than attracting an animal in the night. Another animal. He fell asleep to the sight of the dog lying a few feet away, chin resting on its paws, facing the forest.

He wasn't surprised when it was still there the next morning. "Go away," Felix told it, again, but already he didn't expect it to listen.

When he hit the Sreng border at midday, he crossed it and kept walking. The dog followed.

* * *

Felix woke to the dog licking his face. He sputtered, pushed at the furry head with one hand, wiped a sleeve across his mouth. "Ugh, get off me, you monster—"

The dog barked and sat back, tail upright. Not playful—worried. The sky was grey. It wasn't quite dawn yet. 

He must have been dreaming again. 

Slowly, Felix sat up. He sat there for a few minutes, waiting for his mind to follow his body into wakefulness. He got up and went over to the stream to wash his face. The cold water chased away the last clinging fragments of sleep. He started a fire with the rest of yesterday's kindling, more for something to do than because he needed to cook the dried fruit set aside for breakfast.

He was poking at the coals when the dog came padding up. There was a stick—more of a hefty branch—in his mouth. The dog looked up at Felix with big, soulful brown eyes.

Felix looked back down. "I thought you were better than this."

A hopeful whine, throttled by the stick. Felix felt his mouth twitch.

"Oh, all right," Felix said, and took the stick. He hefted it high, weighing it like a javelin, and then threw. It soared over the creek and into the underbrush. The dog raced after it, barking as he splashed through the shallows. Ridiculous animal.

A quarter of an hour later, Felix's arm was sore, and the dog was panting, gulping water from the shallows before coming to flop next to Felix. Felix scritched his ears. "I'm not going to slow down for you," he said.

The dog barked agreement and thumped his tail in the dirt.

Felix put out the fire and scattered the ashes. He checked his pack, securing the straps, rearranging an item here and there for balance. Finished, he shouldered it and the dog got to his feet, alert and panting.

"Ready?" Felix asked the dog. The dog barked. "All right. Let's go."

Felix and the dog usually made good time together. By now, Felix knew exactly how to pace himself for a day's walk. The dog kept himself entertained, scampering ahead to sniff at the rocks or chase animals real or imagined. Sometimes, when the sky was clear and the wind was brisk, Felix saw the dog running and felt an itch right in the center of his breastbone until he couldn't help himself: he'd break into a sprint, just for a little bit, like it was a race. The dog barked, joyful and raucous, and Felix found himself—not quite laughing. But close.

Here it was too warm for that, once the sun rose. They kept a steady pace until midday, when the sun rose high and sweat started to roll uncomfortably down the back of Felix's neck. They ate lunch in the shadow of a large rock, sheltered from view.

The road they were taking wasn't busy this time of year. Trade caravans took the southern route, and Felix had heard enough stories about Morfis to guess that most travelers preferred safety in numbers. Nevertheless they passed a carter, a pair of dye-stained craftsmen, a wizened old woman accompanied by half a dozen unimpressed goats.

"What a sweet dog you have," the woman cooed. Felix gave an uncomfortable nod. The dog looked up him, tongue lolling from his mouth. Exactly like he was laughing at Felix.

"Yes, you've got everyone fooled," Felix said, once she was out of earshot. "Believe me, I know."

It was quiet enough for Felix's thoughts to wander. Where they'd come from, where they were going. They'd done a circuit around the northeast of the continent; in a few moons, depending on how often he stopped for work, they'd reach the coast of Morfis. He wasn't sure what the ports were like, but they could probably catch a ship to Brigid, if not straight on to Dagda. There should be plenty to of ground to cover in Dagda.

"Hey," Felix said, raising his voice. The dog came galloping back from where he'd been pawing at the red dirt. "Brigid or Dagda?"

The dog tilted his head to the side and yipped once.

"Where we're going after Morfis. Brigid or Dagda?"

The dog yipped again.

Felix leaned down and scratched the dog's ears. "I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "We've got plenty of time to decide."

* * * 

It was a ritual: Felix told the dog not to follow him, the dog ignored him—a ritual obeyed without fail every morning and evening as they walked the length of Sreng, up and back down again. It was a week before Felix caught the dog burying the innards of its prey instead of eating them; another moon before he gave in and wrestled the dog into the shallows of a half-frozen lake, scrubbing it clean. The dog thought it was a game and slipped from Felix's grasp again and again, gamboling and splashing until they were both sopping wet. Huddling before the fire, wrapped from head to toe in a woollen blanket, Felix felt the dog pressing against his side and didn't tell it to move. 

It looked better after the bath, coat shining a deep russet in the weak winter sun. It was starting to look a little less starved as well. Felix could no longer count its ribs at a glance. 

A few miles from the coast, a village headman hired Felix to track down a beast that had been getting at the livestock—an artifact of the war, probably, reduced to scavenging for cows. He tracked it to a burrow outside the village, where the smell told him he'd gotten it right before the thing appeared, growling. It was vaguely canine, with dripping fangs and red eyes and leathery skin in place of a fur coat. Felix had honed his blade against bigger and bloodthirstier monsters than this. He took it down with a clean blow through the heart, the dog worrying at its hind leg so that it reared back and left Felix an opening.

The dog trotted up to him as he stood looking at the corpse. "Good work," Felix said, after a minute. The dog barked. He added, "That doesn't mean you have a job."

Halfway back to the village, Felix realized the dog was limping behind him. It hurried to catch up when Felix turned around, a funny hop-skip. "Stop," Felix said. It ignored him. " _Stop,_ " Felix said, "you stubborn—" and then as it continued to limp forward Felix got down on his knees, grabbed it around the middle, and hauled it into his lap. It yelped, high and surprised.

" _Be still_ ," Felix said into its face. It gave a very small, puzzled bark.

The cut was a slice along the hock, probably a glancing blow from the beast's claws. Lucky. Felix washed and cleaned it, anointed it with a healing oil, and bound it up in soft white cloth, testing with a light touch to see if the dog whined, if the bandage was too tight or too loose. "There," he said, when he was satisfied, and dropped his arms. "You're done."

The dog didn't scramble away, like Felix expected. Instead he stood up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on Felix's shoulders, and swiped a slobbery tongue across Felix's face. 

"What—that's _disgusting_ , you—ugh!" Felix spat into the grass, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. "Get off me!"

The dog gave Felix's face one more lick and bounded off him, landing solidly on all four paws. His tail wagged madly as he barked, _let's go let's go let's go._

"Fine," Felix said, " _fine_ , we're going. Calm down." 

There were no ships to Almyra, but there was one across the bay, rough with spring storms, to Kupala in the former Leicester Alliance, right at the foot of Fódlan's Throat. They hiked with the summer, following the melting snow up into the peaks and back down again. The dog hunted rabbits and chased butterflies in the alpine meadows. Felix took a nap one afternoon, stretched out in the grass with the sun shining on his face and the dog watchful nearby, the first in—years.

They reached Almyra as the summer heat broke. Felix still told the dog to go away, every so often, when the dog slobbered on Felix's face or shook dirty pond water all over Felix's bedroll. They'd been there for two months, Wyvern Moon fading into Red Wolf—which wasn't what the Almyrans called it, Felix was learning—when Felix was hired by a desperate mother to retrieve her kidnapped son. He'd been taken by bandits, she said, sharp cheekbones standing out in a bloodless face. The villagers were too afraid to go after him. There were stories about the leader, the cruelties he enacted on his own followers.

Felix knew a thing or two about cruelty. He took the job. Why not. The dog picked up the son's scent from an old scrap of cloth and they tracked a trail out of the village and into the foothills. The bandits were hold up in an old farmhouse, derelict and rotting. They didn't even hear Felix coming.

He should have known. The woman's son was no youth. He was a full-grown man, and "taken" was an interesting word for running away from home to join a group of petty criminals. Felix had been played. Fine. He still had a job to do. 

He and the dog took care of the bandits easily—nothing he hadn't dealt with a hundred times before—picking up nothing worse than a wrenched arm, a shallow cut along his ribs, before he finished off the leader. He didn't kill the son. He knocked him on the head and dragged him out of the farmhouse, bumping down the dusty road, all the way to the woman's kitchen, where Felix dumped him on the floor in a heap. He made the dog wait outside.

She looked like she was about to burst into tears. "You—you really found him. You got him home."

I did the job, Felix thought about saying, or, You paid me to.

"I brought him back," he said. "It's up to you to fix him."

He should have left then and there. "Thank you," she said, tears in her eyes, "thank you—"

That was when her son came to. Felix never found out what he was thinking, why he'd left in the first place. Just that one moment he was groaning, and the next minute he was on his feet. 

"Bitch," he spat, lunging for her throat. Felix could have—should have—spitted him then and there. His sword was already out of its sheath, halfway there.

But—" _No_ ," she cried, at Felix, and he hesitated. The son grabbed her by the throat. She choked, reaching for his hands, eyes on his face. Her face was changing color. He wasn't letting go. Her hands fell away—

Felix ran him through the back. One clean stroke, between the shoulder blades to the heart. A moment, upright, then he slid off Felix's blade and hit the floor. 

The mother fell with him. His grip had slackened in death; Felix could see the marks on her neck. She stayed there, huddled on the floor, half choking, half sobbing, hunched over his body. Felix couldn't understand her at first.

"I couldn't help him," she was saying. "I'm his mother. Why couldn't I help him."

Felix turned around and walked out of the cottage. The dog caught up with him with a distressed bark. A mile down the road he sat down in the dirt and put his head in his hands.

The dog whimpered. Felix ignored him. After a minute, there was a damp nose against his cheek, a wet tongue. Felix didn't move. But he didn't tell the dog to go away. He felt a soft weight nudging at his arm, persistent, determined.

The dog wriggled under his arm. And then Felix was just—hugging him, wrapping his arms tight around the dog's body, burying his face in the dog's wiry reddish fur. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged anything. Or rather, he remembered with a precision that made him wish he couldn't. He stayed there, clinging to the warm, reassuring solidity and the dog let him, patient, pressing against Felix's body and licking his chin.

After that Felix didn't tell the dog to go away again.

* * *

As the sun descended in the sky, a shimmery blur on the horizon began to resolve into a much more solid blur, and then into the walls of a town. Up close, it was mid-sized and lively. Felix didn't hate towns as much as he used to. That didn't mean he liked them. But it was foolish to bypass a guaranteed source of water and information, so reluctantly he went through the gates and asked the gatekeeper where to find an inn.

"No pets allowed," the innkeeper said.

 _He's not a pet._ Instead Felix said, "Is there somewhere he can sleep outside. The stable yard?"

The innkeeper eyed the dog balefully. "Don't want no dog getting at our chickens."

"He won't," Felix said. "He's trained."

The dog was still and quiet, except for the slightest wag of his tail. His eyes were trained on the innkeeper, about twice as big and melting as usual. Nothing to see here, just a good, good dog.

The innkeeper scowled. "You can tie him up by the stables. But if he gets at them chickens you're paying."

He looked at the dog. The dog looked back at him. He tilted his head to one side, as if to say, _What can you do._

"All right," Felix said to the innkeeper. "Deal."

"You're a good actor," Felix said to the dog, as he tied the length of rope around his neck, looping a knot that would fall apart if the dog pulled at it so he could free himself if he needed to. "And an escape artist. We could try our hand as traveling players. What do you think?"

The dog cocked his head to the side, considering. Then he sneezed. Felix took that as a no.

He ate a meal of stew and bread and beer in the half-full taproom and then ordered a cut of lamb, extra rare. He ignored the disbelieving eyes of the serving boy as he wrapped it in a cloth and walked out of the inn. Felix sat with the dog while he scarfed down the meat then pushed his head under Felix's hand for ear scritches. When Felix went back to his airless room under the second floor eaves, it was at once crowded and echoing. After what felt like hours, tossing and turning, Felix went back down the stairs and out to the stable yard. The town was dark; the vast sky overhead glittered with stars. The dog was waiting, tail wagging silently. Felix fell asleep in the hay, the dog's warm body against his side.

The innkeeper was a lot more friendly the next morning. "Hear you're a mercenary," he said to Felix. "I know a fellow, looking for a good man to make a delivery. He'd pay well."

"Introduce me," Felix said. He didn't make promises up front.

The innkeeper's friend was a town councilor, bearded and beringed. It was a simple job, as he described it, delivering a letter to a beloved relative. In the south of Almyra—ah, Felix had just come from Almyra? Then an honorarium, in addition to the fee, to compensate him for lost time. He was willing to pay Felix half up front and half on completion. The amount was generous.

Felix had been earning his living from his sword for three years. He'd been at war for five before that. He knew when it was a job, and he knew when it was a set up. It didn't take a master schemer to figure out which this was. Intelligence, probably. Maybe some sort of unrest. The councilor finished his pitch and waited, expectant. 

"I'll pass," Felix said.

The councilor wasn't expecting that. After a minute he said, "You didn't seem the sort to consider simple tasks beneath you."

"I'm not interested in politics."

It was a stupid thing to say. Too late. Now the councilor knew Felix wasn't fooled. He affected surprise. "Most mercenaries can't afford to be selective."

"I can," Felix said. He turned to go.

Behind him, the councilor said, "Your accent is that of Fódlan, is it not?"

Felix swung around, hand on the hilt of his sword. The councilor raised a quick hand. "Please don't mistake me. It's your own business. But surely even in these—bright new days of peace—there is no love lost between Fódlan and—"

"I'm not taking the job," Felix said, "and I don't want your money. So save your fucking breath while you still have it."

Out in the street, he didn't waste time. It wasn't yet noon. He and the dog were out of the gates and headed south before the hour had passed. The sun reached its zenith; they kept going. No rest today. The more distance, and speed, the better.

They were about four hours out from the town when he realized they were being followed—when the dog stopped still, legs rigid, ears and tail up.

It was enough warning for Felix. He spared a moment to wish, pointlessly, that the dog could tell him how many, or how far, or what kind of arms. Never mind. The terrain wasn't ideal: the ground was rolling, dotted with scrubby vegetation and stunted trees, nowhere secluded enough to conceal himself or advantageous enough to help hold them off. No use complaining. If he was good enough, he'd come out all right. If he wasn't, he wouldn't.

He'd pick the ground, though. He kept moving, swift and steady, and stopped at the first good patch of level ground he saw, near a grove of thornbushes. He could hear the hoofbeats now, faint but audible.

Felix looked down at the dog. "You stay out of the way," he said.

The dog growled, very softly. Felix doubted it was agreement.

There were half a dozen men on horseback. Excessive, for one mercenary on foot, if that mercenary hadn't been Felix. He knew how to fight cavalry. Before they could split into a pincer, he was running at them, going for the horses. Two went down with a shuddering crash, before the others managed to rein theirs back. He killed the man on the ground closest to him and kept going. Behind him, he heard a growl, and then a gargling scream. One of the men still on horse tried to charge him. Felix waited until the last second then rolled at a diagonal, a move he'd perfected in far worse conditions, and hooked the rider's boot as he thundered by, pulling him from the horse. He was as good as dead before he hit the ground.

Two others had leaped from their horses. Smart. The other horse screamed, the kind of scream that meant an animal had landed on its hindquarters. The two men came at him together. They weren't bad. Better than most of the opponents Felix dealt with these days. That wasn't the same as good. One fell for an easy feint. Done. The other, twice Felix's size, tried a fancy twist to lever Felix's sword out of his hands. Felix let the sword go, darted in, and slashed his throat with the knife.

That was when he heard a bark, high and squealing. 

Felix snapped around. The horse was nowhere in sight—just the rider, a big brawny man with a mace the size of his head in one hand and Felix's dog in the other.

Felix didn't stop to think. " _Drop him_ ," he roared, throwing himself across the space between them, right into arm's range, and the fighter did just that as he turned and slammed the mace's spikes deep into Felix's side.

It didn't save him. He went down a split second later, throat slashed open. Felix's knife fell from his hand. The rest of him followed a second later, struggling through the explosion of pain to control the collapse. He landed on his knees, then buckled the rest of the way forward, falling on his hands. He couldn't breathe.

He wasn't a fool. He was by himself. There was no one here to cast a spell or take him back to a healer. He wasn't going to make it out of this one. 

It was better this way, not knowing it was coming until it was right on top of you. Just one more day. The dog was at his side, yelping in agitation, dashing back and forth. Felix eased himself down, rolled onto his back. 

His breath was coming short. "You should go," he told the dog.

The dog whined, licking his face, nosing frantically at his hair. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere. It was stupid, but it made a lump rise in Felix's throat, one that disappeared in his next gasp for air. It was nice not to be alone, in the end. He'd never thought it would matter. But it did.

"Good dog," Felix said, digging his fingers into the thick wiry ruff, one last pet. His side hurt. It _hurt_ , more than he'd thought it would. He was seeing double now, blurring and wavering, so he shut his eyes and focused on the solid warmth of the dog's body, the thick fur, the worn leather cord—

He'd never noticed the dog wearing a collar.

He opened his eyes.

The dog licked his face again, barking. Felix squinted at his own hand buried in the fur, trying to make his eyes focus. They didn't want to obey. He could feel it though, right there. Right where his hand had rested a hundred times before, and never noticed. Impossible.

It was wrong. He should take it off.

He'd dropped the knife a few inches from where he now lay. He struggled to sit upright, fresh waves of pain lapping through his side. It made the dog whine louder, frantic and distressed. It was fine. It would all be over soon. Felix stretched, trying to get the knife—it was just out of reach, damn it—

The dog saw what he was doing. He bounded for the knife, nosing it forward until its cold hilt nudged Felix's limp hand, then scrambled back to stand over Felix, as close as he could get without pressing against his ruined side. "Good," Felix told him. "Like that. Don't move." The dog whined again, even as he obeyed. Felix didn't bother looking for the cord this time. He felt for the leather and then, struggling, lifted the knife. It slipped in his grasp. The dog's whines rose, piercing. He gripped the strap with one hand and the knife with the other and, gritting his teeth, sawed at the cord.

The leather split under the knife's edge and fell away in Felix's hand.

"There," Felix said. He looked at the dog, at his rusty red fur and black nose and soft brown eyes, and dredged up a smile, from somewhere buried so far deep he didn't even know it was still there. "You're okay." 

For one split second, an eerie quiet. Then a resounding boom, like a clap of thunder, a flash of blinding white light—

* * *

He opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground—on his bedroll. It was dusk. A blanket covered his legs; nearby, a fire crackled. Felix turned his head. A stranger was tending it.

Carefully, Felix felt for his knife.

He wasn't quiet enough. The stranger turned, quickly, and his face lit up. 

He was—almost too much to take in at once. A shock of red hair over a handsome face, wide cheekbones, brown eyes. Tall and well-fed, leanly muscled. Felix didn't trust him.

"Whew," the stranger said, with unmistakable relief. "You're awake. That was a close one."

Felix risked a glance down at himself. His clothes were stiff and dark with dried blood. The right side of his shirt was cut away, exposing a stained bandage wrapped around his side. But he didn't feel real pain; just a gentle throb.

He looked around the camp site. No sign of any other living creature. He kept his mouth shut, even as his alarm rose. No sense in giving it away, if the dog knew to stay away from this stranger.

Felix dug his elbows in the ground and, testing, pushed himself up a few inches. No fresh stab of pain. No reaction from the red-haired stranger. He pushed himself up the rest of the way, until he was sitting upright. "What happened," he said.

The stranger sat back on his heels. "I got a heal spell onto you in time—nothing much, but it kept you from bleeding out. You should take it easy, though, it's been a while and I'm pretty rusty."

"And you just happened to come across me in time," Felix said.

The man's mouth quirked up. "Something like that."

 _Bullshit_ , Felix thought and didn't say. Not until he knew more—not when he was injured and grounded in the company of an unknown quantity. Instead he said, "What happened to the bodies?"

"I dumped them by the rocks," the man said. "So—it's, uh, Felix, right?"

Felix went rigid, all over, an entire cathedral of alarm bells clanging wildly. "Who are you," he demanded. "How do you know me."

"Right," the redhead said, "right, of course you wouldn't know. Sylvain Jose Gautier, at your service." 

It took a moment for the name, at once familiar and distant, to register; then it was so unexpected that for a moment the bells went silent. 

Felix said, "You're not Sylvain Gautier. Sylvain Gautier's been dead for fifteen years."

"Well, not exactly," the redhead who was not Sylvain Gautier said. "I just haven't been very... recognizable."

"Right," Felix said. As if he were foolish enough to think the Crest-bearing heir of the former Kingdom's northernmost territory could have simply waltzed away in disguise—as if it were that easy. "Try another one."

"Swear it's true," the redhead said. "Look, I know this is going to sound crazy—" 

"Then stop wasting my time," Felix said. He tried to get up; it was a mistake. He braced himself against the ground, gasping, as the redhead started forward and then stopped himself when Felix jerked back.

"Look," the redhead said. "You're Felix Fraldarius. I met you one time. You were two years old. You tried to eat my ring."

Felix remembered when Sylvain Gautier had disappeared during a hunt, the flurry of letters between Margrave Gautier and his father, the search parties. Eventually the mourning. The nastier whispers said he'd run off. They'd lasted until the body had been found. Or—had it? Felix couldn't remember. It had been fifteen years. This man couldn't have been alive for more than twenty-five.

A man who knew who he was, who'd appeared out of nowhere, who claimed to have healed him when he was inches from death. And now he was just—waiting, waiting for Felix to say something to him.

If he were going to attack Felix, he would have done it already. There was no point in, what, luring Felix into conversation first? So he must want information, or leverage. Not a physical threat. Then where was—

"Did you kill him?" Felix said abruptly, fists clenching in the blanket.

"Did I kill who?" 

" _My dog_ ," Felix said, ignoring the lightning bolt of pain and pushing himself up to his knees, reaching for his knife, "did you—" 

"No!" the redhead said and then, "No. I didn't kill anyone. Anything. It—He—I promise. I'll explain. Just don't move, you're going to hurt yourself."

There was a minute when Felix could have decided not to believe him. He didn't know why he didn't take it. Felix wasn't a trusting person. But something about the stranger seemed, simply—trustworthy.

"Make it fast," Felix said, "and it better be good."

The redhead sat back. "Well," he said, "it's a classic story. Meet an enchantress, make an unfortunate comment or two—" Felix gave him a flat look. Maybe-Sylvain Gautier ran a deprecating hand through his hair. "Actually I think my brother put her up to it. What can you do, right?"

"Your brother," Felix said. The elder Gautier was dead too; had been dead since Felix was—ten? Eleven? Though not before taking down a full company of Gautier cavalry and half the squad of Fraldarius knights who'd come for support. Glenn had been there, Felix remembered. He hadn't thought of that in a long time.

"Yeah," Sylvain said. "Did you say fifteen years? Guess Miklan must be the Margrave by now, huh. Good luck to Faerghus."

"There isn't any more Faerghus," Felix said. Even after all these years, the words had a bitter, painful taste. "It's the United Kingdom of Fódlan now."

For the first time since he'd opened his mouth, Sylvain looked truly shocked. "The—what?"

"It's a long story," Felix said. "You still haven't told me where my dog is."

"I'm getting there," Sylvain said. "Okay, we'll table, uh, Fódlan. So, I ran into this enchantress and she took exception to my face, and next thing I knew—" 

He stopped. 

A horrible feeling was hanging over Felix. He ignored the voice in the back of his own head, the instincts telling him _Stop him right now_. "What," Felix said. "What next."

"Well," Sylvain Gautier said. He licked his lips and then gave a little shrug and said, "Uh. Woof?"

Felix said, "No."

Sylvain's mouth was twisted in a funny shape. "I'm sorry."

"No," Felix said again. "That's not—no. There's no way."

"I told you," Sylvain said. "I know it sounds crazy. I wouldn't believe me if I were you. But I swear, if you want to—ask me about anything since we left Faerghus, or—" 

Felix said, rasping, "You're telling me you spent fifteen years living as—and suddenly you're not."

Sylvain shrugged. "You took off my collar."

For some reason, that was what did it. The casual way he said it, _mine_ , like he didn't even have to think about it. Because he didn't. Because he was—he'd been—

"So he—" Felix swallowed the wrong word. "It's gone. The dog."

"Well, I'm not an expert," Sylvain Gautier said. His voice was gentle. "But I kinda think there's no turning back."

It was fine. It was _fine_. No one actually needed an—an animal. It was a distraction and a drain on resources. Even a dog like hi—like the one that been following him had to be looked after, to make sure it got through every day and that it was fed and it wasn't hurt and that it was still there when you went to sleep at night and when you woke up again in the morning—

"Hey," Sylvain Gautier said, much softer now, "hey, I know, I'm sorry—"

"Shut up," Felix said, and was mortified to hear the choke in his voice. He swiped angrily at his eyes; the edge of his sleeve scraped tender skin. He couldn't look at Sylvain. "Shut up, just—leave me alone, just—"

"Do you remember that time in Almyra," Sylvain said quietly. Felix's knuckles were white. He stared down at them, blurred. "That family. You were so upset. And I couldn't do anything. I thought, I wish—" Sylvain's voice was much closer now, right in Felix's ear. "Can I—" 

Sylvain was reaching out. Felix stayed tight, rigid, shoulders locked up, because this was some _stranger_ , some useless and unknown human being he'd never met who was here instead of—

Sylvain's arms closed around Felix, careful, gentle.

It was—warm, was the first thing Felix felt, even warmer than the dog curled up against him at night. His heart rate was picking up. There was a tight band around his chest, pressing over his heart; it was hard to breathe. One arm settled around Felix's waist. The other went around his shoulders, tucking Felix forward, just a little, toward the solidity of another human being, their heart and blood and muscle.

Felix drew a long gasping breath and clutched at Sylvain with both arms. 

Sylvain's arms closed tight. Felix clung, unashamed, awash in the sensation. A feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time—the feeling of being hugged back. He pressed his face into the linen of Sylvain's shoulder. Tears were running down his cheeks. He didn't want it. He couldn't stop it. "I've got you," Sylvain's voice murmured. "Shh. I've got you."

His shoulders were shaking. His fingers clenched in Sylvain's cloak. Sylvain was stroking the small of his back, slow, soothing. His hands were so warm, so broad, flat against Felix's back, curved around his waist.

"Goddess, I've wanted to do this for ages," Sylvain said, against his hair. "Who decided dogs shouldn't give hugs? Major design flaw."

Felix couldn't answer. He wouldn't have known what to say. Part of him agreed. The other part wanted to say that his dog didn't have any flaws. He'd been so good. The best dog Felix could have asked for.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, letting himself be held. After a while, he wasn't shaking any more. Slowly, awareness began to creep back in of where he was, what he was doing. He couldn't help it. His spine stiffened.

Sylvain's arms fell away, natural and unhurried. Felix straightened up. Sylvain was smiling at him again, a smile that made something inside Felix ache.

Felix couldn't quite meet Sylvain's eyes. He cleared his throat. "So you were—you. All along."

Sylvain went with it. "Sort of," he said. "I was pretty out of it for a while right after it happened. Just living on instinct, I guess. Even once I got myself together, remembered I was a person somewhere in there, it was kind of... hazy, until." He offered Felix a lopsided smile. "Until I saw you, actually. That day by the stream."

"Oh," Felix said, after a minute. His face was warm.

"I don't know, maybe it was just time." Sylvain shrugged. "But I, uh, I was definitely on board for everything after that."

All the times Felix had dropped his guard, all the softest weakest parts of himself he'd exposed, all the things he'd said—

He said quickly, to distract himself, "So you're not—any more. What are you going to do now."

"Ah," Sylvain said. "Yeah. About that, actually."

He sounded careful in a way Felix had never heard from him. Which was a ridiculous thing to think. Felix had spoken to him for maybe ten minutes, total. It felt like much longer.

"I was thinking about it, while you were out," Sylvain said. "Then you say it's been fifteen years, and Faerghus is gone, well. Can't go back to Gautier, not sure I'd want to. So—" He took a breath. "I've got nothing. Except." He didn't finish the sentence; Felix could hear it, crystal clear. He didn't know how to feel. 

"I'm not, like, begging or anything," Sylvain said. "You want to do your own thing now, that's cool. Just, I think we did an okay job working together, you know? We could probably figure it out on two legs. I think."

"I don't even know you," Felix said.

"You know part of me," Sylvain said. "And I know you."

How could a few words find his center, as sure and deadly as an arrow. Like Sylvain Gautier could see right inside him.

"So," Sylvain said. "What do you say? Go on my merry way, or...?"

His tone was light, careless. The look in his eyes wasn't. It was there in the coil of his shoulders, the invisible tension: hesitation, fear. Just like—a dog, afraid of being turned away.

Felix said, very softly, "Stay."

**Author's Note:**

> eta: [please gaze upon syldog and a peaceful felix + syldog cuddle (!!!!!!) courtesy of seabee!!!!](https://twitter.com/eatmeout_gege/status/1282864216043589633) T_T
> 
> many thanks as always for reading. send me your pet pics at [@matchedpoint](http://twitter.com/matchedpoint).


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